Dave De Don

The horror it creates is now a rite
From the left it dangles straightly to the right
Echoing into my ears sounds that are similar to terrors of the night
The fear that I don’t have any gifted right to write

Was I born to write?
The dark inquisitive saboteur rises, pretending to be light
Then I shut my eyes in a bid to gain insight
If it’s true that I really have a right to write

Drowning in ocean of stories, I hold back tight
forgetful of the little beginnings of any renowned playwright
Every attempt to erase the stories rather makes each character shine forth bright
Then It dawns on me that it’s time to sit up and enjoy my right to write

Tedious the art can be to write
Requiring certain degree of strength and might
Fear and its horror I’m now fully ready to face and fight
Afterwards, I’ll express my freedom and exercise my unlimited right to write